A Bag of French Onion Chips
by johngaltstrikes
Summary: Jim gives Pam her favorite kind of chips and a lot to think about.


Pam was holding on to the bag of chips that Jim had given her, staring at it. Obviously French onion, her favorite flavor – he knew it was her favorite. She didn't know how long she had been holding it, staring at it. She did know that she and the bag were the only two left in the office.

Why had Jim given her the chips after she been a total bitch to him down at the dojo? Especially when it had been in front of their co-workers. But she knew Jim didn't care about what other people thought. He would be hurt because of what she had done – not because of whom she had done it in front of. She didn't deserve these chips. She couldn't believe he had still given them to her – no, she could believe it. Jim was such a nice guy, a good guy – no, a man, a good man, a man of his word, a man who cared for her. She added his gesture to the ever-expanding list of things she liked about him. This was Jim's way of apologizing. But he had nothing to be sorry for, only she.

Roy would have never done anything like this had she been a bitch to him. Roy would have never even offered to buy her the bag of chips in the first instance. Hell, Roy didn't even know French onion was her favorite flavor.

But at the end of the day, the end of this long, long day, it was still just a bag of chips, wasn't it? She shouldn't read anything more into chips than the name on the bag. But she had been such a bitch to Jim, yet he had given them to her anyway. Why had she acted that way? Why had she said, "Hey, put me down, put me down, oh my God, hey, put me down, hey!"? All Jim had done was pick her up. He hadn't groped her. He had just been playing – they had been playing with each other. He hadn't meant anything by it – just like he hadn't meant anything by the bag of chips, right?

And in addition to being a bitch, she was also a hypocrite. Before they had left for the dojo, she had touched him. Sure, it had just been his hand during an innocent palm reading, but she had touched him nonetheless, right there in the office, and she hadn't asked his permission. She had just taken his hand like it belonged to her and started reading his future.

It wasn't as if she had disliked the way she felt when he had picked her up, his hands around her stomach. Contrariwise, she had liked it – and that was just it. She didn't like the fact that she had liked it. She was with Roy. Well, she wasn't with him at this very moment – he was at home (or at Poor Richard's) watching TV and drinking beer, and here she was, still in the office, in the near-darkness, holding and staring at a little bag of French onion chips given to her by her co-worker and best friend.

Why else had she reacted that way? Because there had been other people around, and she knew at least Meredith noticed Jim picking her up. She and Jim had been sharing a private, playful moment. She hadn't wanted to share that with anyone else. And she hadn't wanted them – particularly one of them – to notice that she had been enjoying it. She was having difficulty admitting this to herself; she certainly wasn't going to admit it to her co-workers.

Before they had gone down to the dojo during their lunch hour (well, lunch two-hour, as Michael had extended it), she had been hungry. Then she had lost her appetite – she had felt nauseated. And now she was famished. But she didn't deserve to eat them. And she felt that if she opened the bag, she would be ruining something, spoiling something. She had already spoiled their moment at the dojo. This bag of chips was Jim's way of trying to mend what had broken – what he probably thought that he had broken, but what she knew that she had been the one to break.

This was a gift from Jim. The best gift he had ever given her. (As she thought this, she noticed the expiration date on the bag for the first time. It was several weeks down the road.) And she wasn't going to unwrap her present early. Like a good girl, she would wait until Christmas morning.

She opened one of her drawers, gingerly placed the bag at the back, carefully closed the drawer, and went home.

It was Spring Cleaning Day in the office. Unlike other employees, she was actually participating. She was by no means a clean freak. But some of her co-workers and especially Michael insisted on treating her workspace as their garbage can. She also used spring cleaning as a reprieve from reception – so she could do something other than answer the phone. And without Jim to look at or talk to – Michael had taken him to lunch somewhere – there wasn't anything better to do.

She dragged out the process for as long as she possibly could. But her workspace was only so big. She was almost finished cleaning. Hopefully Michael would return Jim soon. And that's when she spotted it: way in the back of her last messy drawer, was that bag of French onion chips.

She quickly picked it up and ever so gently squeezed it. Whew. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Most of the chips appeared to have survived. Although the teapot (plus the bonus gifts it came with) was now her favorite gift that Jim had given her – her favorite gift that anyone had ever given her – this little bag of French onion chips came in at a close second.

She was about to open the bag when she saw the expiration date. Damn it. It had come, and it had gone. Why had she insisted on relegating the bag to the recesses of her most seldom-opened drawer? She could tell herself that she had completely forgotten the bag way back there. But she was getting tired of lying to herself. Every time she opened the drawer, she knew that bag was there, even though she rarely pulled out the drawer far enough to see it. Even when she did, she wouldn't look at the date. Who was she kidding? Wasn't this bag of chips the main reason, the real reason, why she had cleaned her desk at all instead of tackling the project that Dwight had assigned her?

She glanced looked down at the trash can, overflowing with garbage. No, this didn't belong in there. She looked at the date again, hoping that her myopic eyes had misread it. No, it hadn't changed. Well, dates on these bags of chips – just like dates underneath soda cans – were premature. The manufacturers just didn't want to get sued. She still had time – not much time, but some...

Maybe she could eat just one chip? No, she was afraid that she would never be able to stop herself, that she would savor every last crumb, as she should have done the day Jim gave it to her.

She opened her drawer that she most frequently utilized. She placed the bag of chips up front, and closed the drawer – almost all of the way.


End file.
